I spoke to her class of students
As they asked about far off locations
trips across the world full of excitement
Wonderment in their eyes and stretching their voices
My parable was a split boulder
far too big for them to fathom
and too broken for them to behold
the minutes of quiet confusion mended the old shoe
blue laces in that leather
like information through their brains
The psychatrist compared notes with the mundane
No great story could be told
No great metaphor mined out of it all
just sunny sisters and the school bell
Glory can't be easily obtained
when the teacher is but a lost student
Train them on the ways of the world father for we bleed, we were blessed with fertility in the darkest of realms, we were cursed with fertility unable to know ourselves in spite of our offspring.
They come together as rich and as poor, stigmas and judgements a storm.
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